


If summer is for lovers then consider me in love

by gustin_puckerman



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:46:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3800764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gustin_puckerman/pseuds/gustin_puckerman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, since I thought it was <em>you</em> and not some creepy shapeshifter masking as you, and you were sorta, well, you were <em>really</em> good at kissing... um, me and I just―”</p><p>“Wait, wait, <em>what?</em>”</p><p>Post 1x19 "Who is Harrison Wells".</p>
            </blockquote>





	If summer is for lovers then consider me in love

**Author's Note:**

> yoooooo, was the last episode amazing or what? also, i got way too excited this might not even make sense. i'm sorry.

 

The air are always a bit chilly in Central City, especially during the nights, and that’s always been known. It doesn’t faze Barry―not when he’s been dealing with these kind of things when he’s practically kissing the wind as though its his lost lover every time he sets his foot for a “quick” run. But still, he doesn’t deny the tint of coldness crawling down his spine, causing him to let out an involuntarily shiver while he shifts around, tacking his investigation board in place.

He hears a set of wheels creaked―he’s _got_ to invest in a new swivel chair; Joe’s been verbally harassing him about those―and turns around, realising again that, _oh, yeah, right_ , Caitlin decided to stay back when Joe and Cisco finally called it a night.

She’s firm on the swivel chair, eyebrows furrowing in a certain kind of concentration that Barry has always secretly admired, teeth endlessly gnawing at the bottom of her lips while she stares at the result presenting itself across the screen of his computer.

_98.9% MATCH to HARRISON WELLS_

Reminding him again on the reason why he’d let her stay―and why he’s still around in the little place that he sometimes like to refer as his ‘office’ (which isn’t _wrong_ )―because he knows she’d needed to see it with herself. To do it with her own two hands. To touch the decaying body, to take in a sample and to match it for it to be finally, earthly clear. To find her own _answers_.

And Barry gets that.

And that’s why he stays. And that’s why he lets _her_ stay.

He knows how much she needs this.

He steps forwards, slowly, not really wanting to interrupt the already intense focus she’s put across her face, but as much as he likes to stick around, he can’t wait forever. So his voice comes out slow, wary, but calculated: “Caitlin?”

She jumps, but not too obviously, shoulders hunched upwards together in unison, but just momentarily, before she turns around, eyes wide, obviously startled. Knowing her, she probably even forgot for a minute there that she weren’t indeed in STAR Labs but just... in this dusty office which happens to belong to him. (Or, well, not _belong_ , ‘cause he doesn’t exactly has that amount of money, but you get the idea.) “B-Barry, I was just...”

“I know,” he nods in grim, watches as her eyes flicker downwards in a heavy disappointment.

“I checked. Thrice.” She says in utter disbelief, leaning a bit against the old swivel chair, allowing it to release a small squeak. “It matches.”

He doesn’t say he’s sorry―oh, he wants to, it’s what he feels all the time whenever the guilt flashes in her and Cisco’s eyes―but he swallows the apology down, blinks, and watches as she still tries to drink the information in. He’d always known deep down inside, dragging both Caitlin and Cisco into this would somewhat result similar to the situation already at hand―but he certainly didn’t predict how _hard_ it would actually turn out to be.

With Caitlin, especially.

This kind of betrayal of trust... of course it will hurt. A lot. (He should know. He’d been through the same, remember?)

“Caitlin,” He starts, slowly, but there’s a firmness to his voice that he uses to get her attention; and just like every time, with a sharp intake breath of air, he knows he’s got it. “I’ll walk you home, alright?”

“I...” Her mouth is open, her stare lingers to a spot on the floor while the answer trails off to nothingness, until her lips are sealed shut together and she shakes her head. “No. No. I think... I’ll... No.”

“Caitlin.”

“This is a _lot_ to take in, Barry.”

“I know.” He says, and he knows. Oh, he _knows_. “But Dr Harrison Wells, or whoever the hell he is, _isn’t_ the man we know. Not really.”

“I trusted him. We worked together. He saved your life―!”

“And he left a dead body. The _real_ Dr. Harrison Wells’ body.”

“Barry.”

“Caitlin,” Naturally then―as though he’s been doing it his whole life―he takes her hand in his, runs his thumb in one swift motion down her knuckles and watches her shiver, weary eyes suddenly trained on the particular movement until he speaks again, catching her attention. “Let me take you home.”

The stillness that comes afterwards feels long and is obviously dripping with tension while Barry sees a tiny hint of a teeth biting on the familiar lower lips and he, once again, resists to roll his eyes out of the typicalness he feels himself hauling in. ( “ _The things you’d notice, Barry,_ ” his 3rd grade English teacher once said to him. “ _Amazing_.” )

And then she says, “You kissed me today.”

“E-excuse me―?”

“I-I mean,” She corrects herself, “The meta-human. _Everyman_. He, uh... he kissed me today. As you.”

And through the shock that circles his mind next comes rushing in anger, and he thinks he knows of this feeling before: the overwhelming emotion of disbelief, even mixing with a tint of betrayal. Mostly towards the fact that he’s hearing of a psychopathic man taking an advantage of-of-of― _Caitlin_. As him, no less. “He― _what?_ ”

“Yeah,” She looks away now, embarrassed he reckon, then shrugs her shoulders. “I mean, I knew it was fishy when he was... you know, getting a bit _too_ close, but I mean, it isn’t as though _we_ aren’t close ourselves, so I quickly dismissed it and―”

“Wait, did he just―like, _grab_ you and―”

“Well, kind of. He spun me around, said something about how he should’ve um,” She coughs, a little, now darting her eyes away in a manner that’s too obvious to alarm him that she is indeed embarrassed and Barry suddenly feels the same heat of embarrassment begins to colour his cheeks. “How he should’ve done _it_ a long time ago and he kind of, you know, kissed me.”

“W-what?” Barry rubs the back of his neck then, taking a step back.

“I mean, I resisted it at first but...”

He frowns, “But...?”

“Well, since I thought it was _you_ and not some creepy shapeshifter masking as you, and you were sorta, well, you were _really_ good at kissing... um, me and I just―”

“Wait, wait, _what?_ ”

“I kissed back, okay?” She admits it aloud, dropping her shoulders. “But had I known it _wasn’t_ you, I would’ve, you know, _done_ something. It’s not like I _like_ it. A meta-criminal just kissed me. Probably gonna bleach the lips right after I get home.”

“So...” He takes a moment, breathes in, “That explains the no-hugging and touching thing you were weirdly on about. And, the, uh, the slapping.”

“Yeah... I... Sorry about that.”

“No.” He shakes his head, “No, don’t. I... deserve it. In a way. You know I’d _never_  take an advantage of you right, Caitlin?”

“No, of course not.” She shrugs one shoulder, gestures lamely. “You’re _Barry_.”

He stares at her with his mouth in a slight gap. “What does _that_ mean?”

“I meant―” A hint of a grin flashes in her eyes then, and Barry tries his best not to smile. Much. “I meant, you’re Barry. Of course you won’t take advantage of me. I mean, not like how the metahuman just kinda _dove_ into it, you know?”

“How, uh... how exactly did he, um...?”

“He just, um, you know, spun me around and―”

“And just _does_ it?”

“Yup.”

“.... and it was good?”

“I don’t...” She closes her eyes, scrunches up her nose. “Wanna talk about it.”

“O-okay.”

“It was, you know, okay.” Caitlin shrugs awkwardly, “If it was you, I would’ve probably... like it. A _lot_.”

“You, uh, you would?”

“Yeah, I mean―you’re a nice guy, Barry.” She gestures again, rubs the back of her neck and clears her throat, “And well, you’ve got the looks, the smile. And you’re... _good_. Hell, you’re even a superhero. And, well, I’d be pretty insane or superbly homosexual to _not_ be attracted to you at all.”

“Are you saying... what I _think_ you’re saying?”

“I just, I think you’re handsome, and if you’re a good kisser as your impostor can imitate you to be, I’d... you know... I won’t mind it. Us. You.” She begins to shake her head, “I... I don’t know. Let’s just... forget about this. Yeah, let’s just―”

“No, wait.”

“You said you were going to walk me home.”

“Yeah, I know―”

“So, Mr. Barry Allen, walk me home.”

He stares at her for a long while, knowing the determined look on her face means that she’s not gonna budge anytime soon―especially not, as he realises, that she’s already got her coat and purse in hand―and Barry nods, gather his own stuff, which aren’t a lot. “Yeah, of course.” He answers smoothly, “Right away, Dr. Caitlin Snow.”

She smiles, the same smile he’s seen over a million times, and tells himself that the little man in his stomach does _not_ jump in excitement as he recognises it. “I’ll wait for you outside.” And walks out.

A lot of thoughts run through his mind all at once, but Barry doesn’t let the nerve overwhelms him when he shrugs on his jacket and closes the door to his office, walking out with the key shoved into the pocket of his jeans. 

He sees her waiting outside.

“Ready?” He echoes and watches her smile again, nods.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“No running?” He squints his eyes, looks at her in hope. There’s a hint of a laughter rising up in her expression when her cheeks do, but she doesn’t laugh. Just grins. 

“No.” She shakes her head, “It’s a nice night.”

He looks up ahead, notices the stars and nods in agreement. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“You know, I gotta admit,” she says, still looking up to the night sky, and Barry watches her, both hands deep in his jacket; her brown hair falls like waterfall behind her, spilling all over her shoulders in a way that makes his finger itches to reach out and bury his hand in it. “I think I get why _Everyman_  thinks we’re dating. Or, you know, _could_ be dating.”

He raises his brows. “You do?”

She finally drops her chin down lazily, her brown curls of a hair following suit to bounce all around her face. “We have the potential. I think... I think we could make it.”

He doesn’t what makes him say it―maybe it’s the way that she’s looking at him right now, or the way his chest feels when he hears her say those words (and it feels like hope, like... like it’s something _good_ )―but his mouth moves, and the words come out: “One day, Caitlin Snow,” he vows, “One day I will kiss you, for real, and _we_ are going to see what happens after that. To us.”

She throws her head back, laughs. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” he chuckles too, comes closer. “I think... I think we could make it too.”

“Just not tonight?”

He shakes his head solemnly, looks down at her hands. “No,” he echoes, “Tonight I’m just taking you home.”

“That sounds nice,” She smiles, looks at him. _Really_ looks at him. (And Barry pretends the little man in his stomach didn’t just do the flip.) And nods, “Let’s go home, Barry.”

When he reaches out his hand, she takes it.

(And this is how they fall. In love. Together.)

Effortlessly.

 


End file.
